


How Long It Has Been Since I Have Seen Your Face

by PGT



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Pining, spoilers for Episode 129
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 07:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30001140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PGT/pseuds/PGT
Summary: The ending of 129 from The Gentleman's perspective.
Relationships: The Gentleman | Babenon Dosal/Marion Lavorre | Ruby of the Sea
Comments: 5
Kudos: 75





	How Long It Has Been Since I Have Seen Your Face

The Gentleman reclines in his chair, feet up against his table when his daughter’s voice appears in his mind.

It isn’t a rare occurrence. He thinks about her a lot. The sadness in her eyes every time he denied the truth, the happiness once he finally admitted it, to her and to himself. Sometimes, it is simply the ring of her laughter from across the bar he finds himself replaying, over and over again. Only this time, it is not his imagination, but truly her, the prickle of magic against his eardrums assuring the sound is from a Message.

He quirks an eyebrow, and if his lips curl into a slight smile, no one has any proof. Otherwise, he remains reclined, relaxed.

“Hey, dad… Crazy stuff happened. So Momma and Veth’s family are going to come to stay with you for a while. Super important they need to be kept safe. Help.”

The Ruby? Here? when? He means to shoot up from his seat, finds the legs of his chair tilting too far for him to recover, clambers to the floor. A peal of raucous laughter fills the room, cut short when they realize who it is they’re laughing at. He shoots them a sharp glare from the floor, but in truth, he isn’t all that bothered. There’s something more important to address. He gets to his feet, gritting his teeth at the pain kneeling shoots through his left knee. 

He rushes to his chambers, finds he doesn’t dare reply in the main room. To evoke his past and present to unite. But… that's what Jester is doing? Bringing Marion? Here?

He shuts the chamber door behind him, presses his back against it for support. “Oh. Boy. Well....”

There’d been no point in privacy, after all. What is there to say?

He combs a hand through oily hair, cursing. When was the last time he’d gotten it cut? Gods. when was the last time he’d seen her? He must have been… twenty-five?

He stalked to his mirror, suddenly aware of his posture, his clothing, his face. He stared at himself. Mid-forties, and it showed. The beginnings of crow's feet framed his eyes, the indication of where wrinkles would form on his forehead and at the creases of his nose, slight but present. How much weight had he gained since he’d seen her? He’d lost half the muscle, surely.

He sucked in his gut, tidied his blazer as if straightening the buttons might mitigate the curve of his stomach. Sweat pooled on his forehead, and he couldn’t help but laugh, seeing it. It was a water genasi’s curse, to sweat at the slightest inconvenience, and this was not slight.

The bar.

Oh gods, the bar. 

He burst from his chambers again, adrenaline coursing through him. It reeked. Retch and ale permeated the room. When was the last time it was thoroughly mopped? 

“You!” he pointed to the denizens of a table near the door. It was several feet from where it technically should be, in terms of interior design. It had been there for years. He stalked towards it and, wisely, those seated stood up. 

“Move this,” he gestured, and no one immediately started.

“Now!” They jostled to be the first to obey.

He barked orders to several more tables. There wasn’t enough space, all of a sudden. All tables towards the walls, someone light the braziers, why aren’t they lit? They haven’t been lit in years, sir, you said you like the dim. Well, light them now!

He found the bartender sweeping the bar down with a wet rag without being told to do so. He smiled, despite the bile rising to his throat.

The entry door creaked open, warning seconds before their arrival. He cringed inwardly. What decent man’s door  _ creaks? _

He whirled, eyes wide. He tucked loose hair behind a pointed ear, found he was holding his breath and that he didn’t want to let it go. Maybe if he didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t blink, time would pause and he could prepare himself for just another second.

But time kept racing by. The door swung wide, and at the head of the familiar, colorful band of The Mighty Nein was an even more familiar red tiefling.

Her horns hadn’t changed, spirals of scarlet tipped in onyx, delicately jeweled with thin silver rings and chains dappled in red gems. Waves of wine locks fell past her shoulders, behind a slender neck and a steep neckline. Her dress was modest for a courtesan but extravagant in the dim of a seedy bar. The yellow fabric practically glowed, exposing the shape of her body, each curve defined. Sheer sleeves ran down her arms linked to golden cuffs at her wrists, paired with golden rings and gemstones on each finger worth more than a fortune.

And he saw none of it. All he could see were her eyes, radiant golden orbs, staring directly at him. 

His mind becomes mush. How could he leave her? Beauty be damned, every emotion he’d ever felt for her, every memory, every passionate experience bubbled to the surface. A nervous laugh fell from his lips. He fidgeted with the simple, steel band on his left hand. 

“Welcome.”

  
  



End file.
